Out of Darkness Dwells the Light
by MollyZChmbr
Summary: Hermione's life has changed forever. Will her Gryffindor spirit overcome the resident evil? Currently rated R, will change to NC-17 later.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Any character or locale that you recognize is the result of JK Rowling's imagination and therefore her property. I'm not making money off this, just playing on JK's coattails for a while.  
  
This part of the story is rated R for violence and content. It will become NC-17 at some point so be warned.  
  
Chapter 1: Not all that glitters is gold  
  
Summer in Bulgaria. Well, a few weeks anyway. Hermione's parents weren't exactly keen on the idea of sending their only daughter off to a foreign country to visit her boyfriend, but she gave them little choice. She pointed out that although the muggle world still considered her a child, the wizarding world didn't and that was the life they chose for her when they sent her to Hogwarts 6 years ago.  
  
Bulgaria was quite lovely this time of year. Viktor lived in a rather small village reminiscent of a Bram Stoker novel. Hermione enjoyed letting her imagination carry her away while she and Viktor wandered the cobblestone road that led through town or listened to the lonely howling of wolves as they stargazed. As much as Hermione liked school and studying, vernacularized moments like these were a welcomed break. Viktor was a welcomed break as well. He was unlike any man she had ever known. He was quiet, dark and mysterious, but a total gentleman. Hermione was quite certain that love loomed on the horizon for them both, but wasn't making any proclamations yet.  
  
Summer was also Quidditch season. Given that Viktor is the seeker for the Bulgarian team that meant that Hermione would have to be on her own a few days out of her trip when Viktor would be away for a match. In her time as a Gryffindor, Hermione had had her share of adventures sneaking around with her two pals, Ron and Harry. As she watched Viktor fly off on his Firebolt Mark V, she wondered what kind of adventure she could have in this strange land. Immediately, Viktor's words resounded in her head: "Mind whvere you wvander, Hermione. Bulgaria is very old country wvith many hidden dangers. It would be best to stay in after dark." Well, she would be careful, but the idea of telling Harry and Ron that she hadn't even stepped foot into the forest was enough to make her indulge her curiosity. They would taunt her relentlessly if she admitted to taking "Vicky's" warning too seriously.  
  
The morning after Viktor left, Hermione woke feeling restless. She pulled on her cloak and decided to walk into the village for a little exploring. The village people were very friendly although most did not speak English. Hermione visited a craftsman who made little wooden dolls and picked out a beautiful one with a scarlet red silk dress for Ginny. Next she stopped at the bakershop for a pastry and coffee. As she made her way to the end of the street she noticed something sparkling through the trees of the forest that bordered the village. She hesitated for a moment before entering the forest. Certainly it was safe in the daylight. Chances are the wolves didn't come out until after nightfall and any other creatures she might meet would be easily held off with a good charm.  
  
Hermione walked for what seemed about an hour, never taking her eyes off the sparks that danced through the trees. Finally she came to a small pond the most fantastic color blue. She'd never seen anything like it. Misty electric blue waves shimmered against the dark khaki of the moss covered bank. And sparks of fiery gold emitted from the pond as the sun hit the waves through the trees. Hermione was so transfixed on the beauty of the pond that she didn't hear the soft, rhythmic beat of wings behind her. She didn't hear the barely audible pad of footsteps as they approached her from behind. Until she felt the hot breath of something not quite alive on the back of her neck, Hermione had considered herself completely alone. She was barely aware of another presence when she felt the most exquisite pain imaginable. Suddenly she was spun around by the hair and lifted up in a death lock of arms and wings. As her eyes widened in horror, only one thought came to mind: "Viktor doesn't know the half of it." She tried to scream, but her throat was ripped from her in ruthless hunger. Not knowing what else to do, Hermoine fainted. 


	2. Voices

Disclaimer: Any character or locale that you recognize is the result of JK Rowling's imagination and therefore her property. I'm not making money off this, just playing on JK's coattails for a while.  
  
This part of the story is rated R for violence and content. It will become NC-17 at some point so be warned.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: Voices  
  
Hermione woke with a scream on her lips that would never reach ears. She immediately passed out again. The next time she woke she heard voices. Looking around she saw that she was in a small room that smelled of wheat and strawberries. It made her think of home. Sunday morning brunch with her mother mixing mimosas and her father sitting in his favorite chair reading the paper. Confusion set in as Hermione convinced herself that the attack in the forest had been a dream, but didn't reconcile with her current surroundings. The voices were clearer now. A language she didn't understand. "Wait a minute", Hermione thought to herself. She listened harder. "I DO know that language. Funny, it sounds like English, but different somehow." An old man entered the room carrying a tray with some kind of pastry and water on it. He looked the product of many long years, deeply etched lines around his black but kind eyes, steel grey wiry hair. He spoke. It was garbled at first, but as Hermione focused on him, his words were clear, "Feeling better then, love? You quite gave me and Quiddity a scare. Merlin's truth I'm still scared for you, but you'll come through okay. I'm given to know things about people and you have something in you I've never seen before. A resolve, let's call it. Oh listen to me. Don't mind my rambling. I've been doing it for 117 years and don't expect I'll give up the habit anytime soon." Hermione gaped at the old man, realized her mouth was open and decided to try a few words, "accccchhh". The man came and sat on the bed and laid a gentle finger on Hermione's lips. He spoke softly and carefully, "Best not to rush it, love. You will get your voice back, but the healing spell needs more time." His eyes saddened and he looked away.  
  
Hermione heard another voice come from outside the room. Again it was garbled at first, but she concentrated on the voice and heard, "....out of here. Nothing but trouble she'll be once the change begins." The voice was strange. It was low and guttural. Another voice answered in a soft velvety purr, "Master says she can fight it. Master says that if he caught it in time, she will be incorruptible. You must trust the master as always you have." The terror in Hermione's eyes must have been apparent as the old man was suddenly trying to reassure her that she would be okay. She tried her voice again, "What happened to me?" she rasped out.  
  
"You were infected by a most vile creature, child." the man responded. He continued, "I don't suppose lying to you will do you any good and I've never believed in sugarcoating a harsh truth. I found you by the enchanted pond that he uses to lure in his victims. He is a force to be reckoned with, but nothing a good stupefy hex won't help. I got you to safety, but not in time to stop the infection, I fear. My dear, only time will tell if I have saved you or damned you, but you are alive and one can hope that any life is better than none at all." Hermione's head was spinning. Infection? Damned? Again the voice from the other room sounded, "She'll wish she was dead a year from now. Couldn't leave well enough alone, could he?"  
  
"What is he talking about?" Hermione demanded.  
  
"Who, dear?" the man answered.  
  
"The man in the other room. Why is he saying that I would wish I was dead?" Hermione's voice was getting stronger albeit very sore.  
  
"There is no one else here, love. The only ones in the other room are Quiddity and Adele, my dog and cat."  
  
"I don't understand. I heard voices talking about me and the trouble I will cause you. Please, I don't understand any of this. What attacked me. What infected me?" Hermione was near hysteria when a cat the color of gray moonlight jumped lightly onto her chest and nuzzled it's face into her hair. Hermione became aware of a voice in her ear, "Don't worry sweets" it purred "Quiddity is as daft as he is ugly. Master will care for you until you are ready to face the future." Hermione's mouth dropped open again. She turned to the old man and asked, "Did you hear her speak to me?"  
  
"Adele? She speaks to me all the time, but it comes out as a soft purr. I suspect we're seeing the first stage of your transformation and if it's a communication gift, then I'm greatly encouraged about your future. Now, eat some breakfast and get some rest. We'll talk more later, dear." The old man turned to leave the room.  
  
"Wait!" Hermione called to him. "What is your name?" He turned slightly, "I am Christov Dimetria." Hermione regarded him with an earnest expression, "Thank you, Mr. Dimetria. For everything." He answered, "You're welcome, Hermione Granger." When he saw the look of shock on her face at the sound of her name, he let out a light laugh, "I know things too, Miss Granger. You'll find your purse on the table next to the bed." With a wink of his glittering black eyes, he left the room. 


	3. Fearing fear itself

Disclaimer: Any character or locale that you recognize is the result of JK Rowling's imagination and therefore her property. I'm not making money off this, just playing on JK's coattails for a while.  
  
This part of the story is rated R for violence and content. It will become NC-17 at some point so be warned.  
  
Chapter 3: Fearing fear itself  
  
Over the next few days Hermione found herself confronting the beginnings the nightmare she was facing. Christov had explained that she was infected with a form of Vampirism that was very rare. Contrary to the numerous books written by muggle authors, Hermione learned that vampires come in different "breeds". Most breeds are rather innocuous in that they prefer an isolated existence and feed on mostly wild animals, not wanting to venture into populated areas. Like werewolves, vampires are shunned by non-infected wizards and if they can happen to function in society, tend to keep their infection a secret.  
  
"Fear causes peculiar behavior in people." Christov said with a note of irony in his voice. "These creatures fear most the actions of other people's fear." He continued, "Most vampires struggle in the world. If they are not in hiding, they must hold jobs at night and feed discretely. The common vampire doesn't demonstrate fantastic ability. They don't have hyper sensitive senses or transfigure at will. They cannot bend a victims mind to their will. They cannot survive the light, it weakens their already diminished life."  
  
Hermione was intrigued. "The vampire that attacked me. What sort was he?"  
  
Christov visibly shuttered and paused before replying, "He was U'ebitsche. The worst of evil monsters, that one." Christov was uncomfortable discussing the U'ebitsche with Hermione, but she needed to know what to expect from the life she was now forced to endure. He crossed the room and poured himself a draught of dark red liquid from a crystal decanter. In one pull, the glass was empty only to be refilled by a much more steady hand. He turned and offered Hermione a wary smile, "Port. Sometimes courage is best poured into a glass. Would you like a bit?" Hermione nodded and appreciatively took the proffered glass.  
  
"Mr.Dimetria, please tell me about the U'ebitsche." Hermione's eyes were pleading with Christov to tell her a story with a happy ending, but it appeared that today she would not get a fairy tale. As he spoke, a cold chill gripped Hermione's heart and tears brimmed in her eyes.  
  
"He was born U'ebitsche. He was not made that way. Pure monster if you ask me. His powers are unlike any I've ever heard about. Just looking into his eyes is enough to make a person die of fright. That's the rumour anyway. He's haunted this forest for years, but he comes and goes. He likes to play with his victims. You saw the pool. He makes them see pure beauty before his kills them. His trap allows him to take their passion for his own and none ever escape. I've often found the remnants of his twisted existence after he's gone. He never leaves much behind. Some hair here, finger there. You were the first I've known of to survive his attack. Honestly, I don't understand why. His senses are sharp and he would have known I was there long before I even saw him. I wonder......" Christov trailed off.  
  
Hermione was looking out the window of the small cottage. Her expression was hard to interpret. Christov noted that she was changing rapidly. Her eyes had been deep cinnamon brown yesterday. Today they were tinged with violet. Her hair, once unruly and dark ash brown was becoming more sleek, longer and had auburn highlights. Her skin shone like fine silver dust dancing in a sunbeam. She was fully recovered from her encounter with the U'ebitsche, but it was clear that her blood had been corrupted and the transformation was underway.  
  
As if reading his thoughts, Hermione inquired, "What will happen to me? If I am to accept this life, I must know what to expect."  
  
He regarded her with a mixture of sympathy and awe. There was no avoiding the truth. "You will change into some version of the U'ebitsche. The transformation has already begun. We can only hope that you will retain what love and joy you have in your heart when your transformation is complete. You mentioned that Adele spoke to you and you understood Quiddity." He laughed, a bit like a schoolboy would laugh at a harmless prank. "I've often wondered if that miserable dog and prideful cat understood what I've said to them. It seems animals can learn Slavic with the rest of us, eh?"  
  
Hermione was perplexed. "Slavic? No, Adele spoke to me in some form of fractured English."  
  
"How could she? She's never heard that language. We've lived here for many years. Come to think of it, I haven't heard any English since I was a boy at Durmstrang and we had an exchange student from Ireland. Been in this forest for many years, I have." Christov gave her an enigmatic look. "Tell me dear, where did you learn to speak the Slavic language so well?"  
  
"Slavic?!" Hermione exclaimed. "I don't speak Slavic. Well, only what Viktor has taught me, but mostly it's just mushy garbage I won't ever say to anyone else."  
  
Christov gave her a pensive look. "I think I understand. One of the many talents I believe you will find yourself endowed with in the coming months may be multi-lingual perception. Peculiar indeed. Do you notice anything else?"  
  
"Nothing out of the ordinary, really. I could hear your heartbeat pulsing through your wrist when you handed me the glass of port. And despite sitting in front of the fire, my skin feels cool, almost refreshed. It won't end there, will it?" Hermione wasn't sure she wanted her question answered.  
  
"Doubtful, my dear. This is only the beginning and I can not predict what will happen. All I can do is wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.  
  
"What of this Viktor? He is your boyfriend? Surely he must be worried about you." Christov said.  
  
Hermione gasped. "Goodness, I've been here for days and he's surely back from Australia by now. He'll wonder where I've got off to. Do you have an owl I could send to him, Mr.Dimetria?"  
  
"I'm afraid not, Hermione. But we can send Adele with a message for him." Christov handed Hermione some parchment and a quill to write a message to Viktor while he went and roused the sleeping cat off the windowsill.  
  
* * * *  
  
The next morning Hermione woke feeling refreshed and energetic. As she dressed she glanced in the mirror hung over the bed. She could see the changes taking hold in her appearance. Her front teeth were now much smaller than Madame Pomfrey had made them in her 4th year at Hogwarts. Conversely, her canine teeth were slightly longer and sharper. The change was subtle, but she noticed. She also noted that her hair had grown a couple inches overnight and was now tickling the bottom of her ribcage. "Not a bad change." Hermione thought to herself as she pulled on her jeans and blouse.  
  
Hermione opened the bedroom door, took two steps and immediately got knocked to the floor as the weight of a medium sized man apparated where she was walking.  
  
"Hello, Viktor." Hermione said pleasantly. She reached up and gave him a passionate kiss, but gasped when he pulled away abruptly. Viktor looked her up and down and realization came into his eyes. He moved away to stand by the doorway near Christov who had just come in with an armload of firewood.  
  
"Viktor, what's the matter?" Hermione asked. He looked terrified and was still backing toward the door.  
  
Viktor's eyes were filling with tears despite the fear in them as he said, "It's true then. I wvill owvl your parents right awvay to expect you on tomorrow's train. Goodbye, Hermione." With that, he turned a fled out the door.  
  
Comprehension dawned on Hermione as she saw Viktor's reaction. She hadn't needed to say a word for him to know of the monster she was becoming. Heartbroken, Hermione ran back into the bedroom, flung herself onto the bed and cried.  
  
Christov placed a sympathetic hand on her back and guided her into a fatherly embrace. "It's the way of fear, child. Your strength and resolve to live will help you in your journey, but you will learn all too well the heartbreak of rejection for what you are. I can't change your fate, much as I wish I could. But I promise that no matter what your future holds, I will love the heart that beats in your chest and the spirit alive in your mind." Hermione looked into Christov's old black eyes and whispered, "Thank you, Mr.Dimetria." 


	4. Discomfort of home

Disclaimer: Any character or locale that you recognize is the result of JK Rowling's imagination and therefore her property. I'm not making money off this, just playing on JK's coattails for a while.  
  
This part of the story is rated R for violence and content. It will become NC-17 at some point so be warned.  
  
Chapter 4: Discomfort of home  
  
Hermione's head was spinning as she boarded the train for London. Christov had been kind enough to fly her to the station on his old Clean Sweep IV, but now she was on her own and had a lot to think about. Viktor's reaction had been painful and harsh, if not completely unexpected. She knew that he loved her, but apparently love doesn't conquer all as many muggles would like to believe. In the wizarding world, the element of the unknown is just too great to take chances on things like 3 headed dogs, animals that breath fire and sting while sucking your legs off and women with sharp teeth and a potential for bloodlust. Currently, however, Hermione was too preoccupied thinking about her parents reaction to her physical changes. After mulling over her options, Hermione choose simply to lie. It hurt her deeply to betray her parents trust by lying to them, but seeing their reaction to "Hello mother and father. I had a good holiday. Food was superb, scenery was fantastic and I've finally learned what it feels like to be lunch for a bloodsucking monster." just wasn't appealing.  
  
"There's my little girl!" Hermione's mother grabbed her into a loving embrace before pulling away and saying with amusement, "Oh my, they certainly have good hairdressers in Bulgaria. I like the red, it's daring without being too garish."  
  
Although Hermione's mother was quite conservative, she always valued a good dye job.  
  
"What have you done to your eyes, Hermione?" Hermione's father said as he gave her an affectionate squeeze.  
  
"Charmed them. Do you like it?" Hermione replied.  
  
"Well, it's a bit weird, but I suppose that's the rage among 17 year olds these days. In my time it was greasy hair. Kids..." He shook his head and added, "Shame things didn't work with Viktor. Are you all right, sweetie?"  
  
"I'll get over it, dad. I suppose I'll have to. Let's get home. I'm dying to see Crookshanks."  
  
+ * * * *  
  
As soon as she got home, Hermione rushed upstairs to her bedroom where Crookshanks was waiting patiently on her bed. She picked him up and tried to cuddle him, but he spit at her and jumped to the windowsill.  
  
"Crooks, I know it's an adjustment, but we'll get through this." Hermione told him in a soft, sad voice. She was surprised when she heard his reply.  
  
"If you'd taken me along, I could have protected you." He accused.  
  
Hermione was dumbfounded. "How did you know?" After talking to Adele, somehow talking to Crookshanks didn't seem at all strange.  
  
"Not much gets past a cat. I forgive you, but you'll understand if I'm not in a hurry to acquaint myself with the new you." He added, "By the way, I missed you terribly."  
  
Hermione crossed to the window and gave him an affectionate stroke, "I missed you too, love."  
  
When she turned around to start unpacking her suitcase, she noticed two letters lying on her bed. Both were in regal parchment envelopes with electric green script and were embossed with the Hogwarts wax seal. Hermione felt a surge of excitement such that she had not felt in days as she opened the first letter. It was the official letter inviting her to attend for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The second letter informed her that she had been selected as Head Girl and outlined her various duties.  
  
After finishing unpacking, Hermione turned to Crookshanks, "Only a few more weeks until we're back at school, old boy. I'm excited to get back. I really need to do some research about my present condition. I'm not likely to find anything in the muggle library, am I? Do you think Harry and Ron will notice the difference?"  
  
"Harry will notice, but Ron isn't likely to notice anything that isn't either on a broomstick or walking a catwalk." Crookshanks purred derisively.  
  
"Good point. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm tired. See you in the morning, Crooks." Hermione gave him a gentle kiss and went to bed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Hermione"  
  
Hermione woke with a start and a lingering sensation that she wasn't alone.  
  
"Hermione" the voice whispered again.  
  
"Who's there?" Hermione tried to keep her voice steady, but it came out as a shrill testimony to her growing fear. She reached for her wand.  
  
"I'll be with you soon. Soon I will retrieve what was stolen from me." There was a threatening tone to the whisper and Hermione shuddered as she felt a cold hand caress her cheek.  
  
"I'm dreaming. This is a dream clearly the result of an overactive imagination." Hermione tried to reassure herself. "Why is so bloody cold in here?"  
  
The voice whispered once more, menacing and cold as ice, "Soon, Hermione, soon."  
  
The room warmed and the moon shown through the window. Hermione was alone. She ran for the bathroom and made it to the toilet just in time to vomit. After several minutes of trading off between heaving and weeping, Hermione got off the bathroom floor and studied her face in the mirror. She was a mess of tangled hair and bloodshot eyes. Upon closer inspection she saw a dark shadow on her cheek. She touched it with her fingertips and they came away covered in black ash. Hermione grabbed a washcloth and started violently scrubbing her face and hands. When all the ash was gone, she steadied herself and said to the mirror, "'Soon', he said. Well, I'll not stand by and be his victim again. I WON'T!!" Her voice was so forceful that the mirror broke at her last words as she stalked off to bed.  
  
  
  
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Thanks for all the reviews. I appreciate the input. I just want to assure a few of you of two things: 1. I don't intend for Hermione to be superwoman. Even in a horror/fantasy story, that just isn't realistic (forgive the use of the word "real" LOL) 2. Snape will be introduced in the next chapter, PROMISE!!! I'm as excited at the prospect as everyone else hehehe.  
  
-T 


	5. Of cauldrons and dragons

Disclaimer: Any character or locale that you recognize is the result of JK Rowling's imagination and therefore her property. I'm not making money off this, just playing on JK's coattails for a while.  
  
This part of the story is rated R for violence and content. The next chapter WILL be NC-17!!!!! Be advised.  
  
Chapter 5: Of cauldrons and dragons  
  
"Bloody first day of term." Severus Snape thought to himself as he sat staring into his empty double capacity cast iron, titanium plated cauldron. The first day of term was always a trial for him. Truth be told, he hated kids, particularly teenagers. Life was bad enough among the mundane little simpletons he worked with, add mundane simpletons who thought they already knew everything and you had the ingredients for a very bad day, in Snape's opinion. This year would be worse than normal, he surmised.  
  
The previous year his allegiance to both sides of the war had built to a tempest. Voldemort had suspected Snape's defection, but wasn't confident in his information so didn't attempt to dispatch him until it was too late. Dumbledore had faith in Snape's dedication to fighting Voldemort simply because he understood the politics of self-preservation. Dumbledore may have understood Snape's desire to live of his own free will, but he also underestimated Snape's motivation.  
  
Well, he had free will again, thanks to Harry Potter. The very idea of owing a debt of gratitude to Potter made Snape seethe with hostility. After all, they destroyed the dark lord together. Potter never would have been able to defeat Voldemort without the Muertius D'Monstrum potion and it was Snape who lured Voldemort into the trap. Yet, Potter was the hero. Sure, Snape got his commendations, but he didn't care. The prospect of seeing Potter's oversized ego this term was enough to make Snape consider early retirement.  
  
Yes, retirement sounded good. No more pats on the back by his moronic colleagues, no more beaming grins from the headmaster when the topic of the returning 7th years or Voldemort was brought up, no more owls from the Ministry telling him how proud they were and that he should be receiving his gold levitating pocket watch any day now.  
  
"Idiots!" Snape snatched up a mouse that was running by and threw it into the cauldron. "Incindio." He said, bored. The mouse made a barely audible squeak and disappeared into a pile of ash. The truth was, Snape was misunderstood by all those around him. Completely misunderstood. They knew he was callous and sharp tongued. They assumed that under his brusque exterior there lived a man longing for companionship who insulated himself against compassion out of fear of hurting others with knowledge of his dark past. They were wrong. He grinned in his reverie, thinking of how Professor Trelawny would react if he revealed his desire to transfigure her into a small goat so he could feed her to the anaconda living in the forbidden forest. "Best thing for her, the annoying twit." Snape could never be described as nice, kind, good or honorable and therein lay the irony of misunderstanding. His callous nature was the real Snape. One could argue that perhaps his nature was sorely underestimated at that.  
  
Snape was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of soft wings fluttering through the tunnel-like skylight in the dungeon wall. A great horned owl appeared and dropped a small package into his lap. The owl landed on the cauldron where it sniffed the ash and gave Snape a reproachful look. "Go back to the Ministry if you want a handout." Snape snorted maliciously. The owl took off, made two circles around the dungeon, let loose some droppings on Snape's desk and flew out the skylight. Snape opened the box and peered inside. He was suddenly struck in the nose by a piece of garish gold that jumped out of the box and positioned itself in front of his right eye. Upon close inspection, it appeared to be a pocket watch. Every time Snape moved his head, it followed. "Fabulous." Snape said irritably. He grabbed the watch and threw it against the wall where it shattered. Before hurling it, however, he noticed the time said 6:45. With a deep sigh, Snape swept out of the dungeon and headed for the entrance hall. The term was about to begin.  
  
+ * * * *  
  
Hermione was the first one on the Hogwarts Express. She chose a cabin near the back to avoid as many probing eyes as possible. Within minutes, Harry and Ron joined her in the cabin and immediately launched into sympathetic speeches about how she was too good for Krum and if she wanted, they would send him a curse that would replace his fingers with spaghetti noodles, thus destroying his ability to play Quidditch. Hermione politely declined the offer.  
  
"You've changed a bit over the summer, Hermione." Harry said. "You look, oh what's the word."  
  
"Radiant." Ron finished for him. "I like your hair like that. And you look like you've done something to your muscles. Did you join a Tim?"  
  
"Gym, Ron, it's called a gym. And, no I didn't. I suppose I just grew up a bit, that's all." Hermione was anxious to get the questioning over with. Like with her parents, Hermione had decided to take the route of deception with Harry and Ron. Her heart ached as she lied, "Genetics I suppose. All the Granger women take on different features in adulthood. Harry, how are you doing? How is Dudley?" She changed the subject as quickly as possible hoping they wouldn't notice.  
  
"The headaches are going away slowly." Harry unconsciously rubbed the scar on his forehead. If the scar was remarkable before Voldemort's destruction, it was absolutely amazing now. When Harry and Professor Snape trapped Voldemort last year, Harry drank a potion made with Voldemort's own blood and a shaving from his wand, the sister wand to Harry's own. This potion allowed him to withstand the Avada Kedavra curse issued by Voldemort and turn it back on him, thus killing an otherwise unkillable beast. At great personal risk, Snape gathered the impossible ingredients and made the potion. Although Harry didn't like Snape, he now had an immense level of respect for the man.  
  
The potion had side effects. After Voldemort's death, the molecules of his blood that Harry had drunk collected in the lightening bolt scar and burned an image of a snake wrapped around the lightening bolt. The snake appeared to be enchanted and would taunt and hiss at him when he looked in the mirror. As long as Voldemort's blood ran in Harry's veins, the scar would live.  
  
"Dudley's living with Aunt Marge now. He asked if I would come and visit him at Christmas. I don't know yet if I will. You know, it's funny. I've always hated Dudley for the bullying git that he was. But now I just feel sorry for him. He's lost without Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. I'm glad he was away at school when Voldemort struck. I don't think he would have been able to handle seeing Uncle Vernon killed so easily and watch his mother driven mad by cruciatus. A boy needs his heroes, no matter how pathetic they may be." Harry tried to cover up wiping away a tear by faking a sneeze, but Hermione noticed and gave him a gentle hug. "So anyway, he goes to visit Aunt Petunia at St.Mungo's, but it upsets him. I suppose he and I have a common history now, we're both orphans in some sense of the word. He's humbled. Maybe he won't turn out so bad after all."  
  
Ron was looking very uncomfortable. He hated emotional scenes and was much happier living in denial now that the worst of the danger was past. "Who's up for a game of Hungry, Hungry Dragons? Fred and George created it for the shop, but it's not ready to sell yet. This one's a prototype. They say there are still a few problems with the design. Something about burning hair and bleeding fingertips. But we get to be the first to try it out. Who's in?" Ron looked up expectantly and was greeted with raised eyebrows. "C'mon, it's nothing Madame Pomfrey can't fix."  
  
+ * * * *  
  
The great hall was as beautiful as ever with its enchanted ceiling and gleaming gold dishes set about the tables. As Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way into the room a soft, silky voice spoke behind them. "What is that appalling smell?" All three students froze, not wanting to turn and face their most abhorrent teacher.  
  
Snape stood in front of them, tall and menacing in robes of jet black that flowed like a river of blood in the dark. Ron was visibly nervous while he tried to cover up his bleeding fingers which he'd only been able to heal halfway with a medi-charm. Harry straightened up and looked Snape in the eyes, not wanting to seem weak or incompetent despite the cut on his nose and his singed hair, but Snape didn't notice. He was in a deadlock stare with Hermione. His eyes bore into hers and held her attention for what seemed like an eternity. Hermione's throat began to burn, her skin felt cold and she heard that voice again, "Hermione, so sweet in your school robes and academic expectations. You shouldn't be here. You're time here is stolen. I'll be patient. Oh, what rewards await me for my patience." The voice was gone with a hiss and Hermione was vaguely aware of a choking noise around her. Was Harry choking? As if being shaken awake from a bad dream, Hermione realized that she was making the noise and Harry and Ron were staring at her with concern.  
  
"Do you need some water, Hermione?" Harry asked. "Ron, get her some water. I think the dragon's breath is still with her."  
  
"Tsk tsk." Snape scolded. "Dragons are forbidden at Hogwarts. I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate whatever it is that has brought them here." He turned back to the great hall with a flourish of robes, but turned back with a sarcastic gleam in his eye, "Miss Granger, if you insist on making such a racket, might I suggest you take up smoking. If anything, it will improve your odor." He wrinkled up his nose and strode away.  
  
Still coughing, but pulling herself together, Hermione growled under her breath, "Arrogant prick!"  
  
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I know this is going a bit slow, but I'm working on it. I have so much to write and just not enough time it seems.  
  
I know that some of you will be disappointed that Snape isn't going to be a misunderstood hero, but I hope you find my malevolent Snape sexy nonetheless. I sure do.  
  
Thanks so much for the reviews. I love the input. 


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